Harry will probe Dracana if she knows anything

Dracana's fingers laced through Harry's, her grip firm yet tender, as if anchoring him against the storm brewing in her words. Her blue-green eyes locked onto his, searching for cracks of uncertainty, but finding none, she leaned in, the warmth of her breath mingling with the faint scent of lavender from her velvet dress.

"Dracana," he said breathlessly, his voice a mix of hesitation and determination as he gently but firmly took her wrists, lowering her hands while stepping back half a pace. "If you're really... mine now, and you want to prove it—tell me about your father. Lucius Malfoy. What are his plans? What orders has he got from Voldemort?"

"Oh, Harry," Dracana said softly, her voice steady and sincere, a far cry from Draco's old sneer. She stepped closer, her green dress brushing against his robes. "Father's orders from the Dark Lord... they're all about keeping things hidden and in control. Voldemort's only been back a few months, and he's furious about the time he lost.”

“The Dark Lord,” Dracana said, “has told Father to use his position at the Ministry to convince people he hasn’t returned—by bribing Fudge and spreading rumours that you’re unstable and Dumbledore is losing his mind.” She added, “It’s all to keep everyone divided and unprepared.”

She paused, her lips tightening into a worried frown. She reached up and touched his cheek gently, as if trying to comfort him. "There's more. Voldemort wants the prophecy—the one about you and him—from the Department of Mysteries."

“Father's the spearhead, scheming to draw you there, since only your touch can claim it,” Dracana explained. “A cadre of **** Eaters waits in the wings, veiled until the strike.”

Humming thoughtfully Dracana continued, “recruitment surges too, pulling pure-blood lines back with vows of dominance in the rising regime,” she explained. “And dark relics slip through shadows, aimed at Hogwarts to erode Dumbledore's hold, stirring unrest."

Harry's mind reeled as he took in Dracana's words, the details slotting into place like pieces of a grim jigsaw.

A prophecy?

Luring him to the Department of Mysteries; recruiting more **** Eaters—it all lined up with the suspicions he'd had since Voldemort's return last June.

But coming from this transformed Malfoy, it hit him harder, making the threat feel closer and more immediate.

Glancing at the nearby genie, he noticed her crimson and gold silks billowing while her misted tail curled gracefully.

A sultry smile played on Umbridge’s lips as she observed, her enhanced curves rising subtly with each breath, the sheer fabric hinting at more. Harry wrenched his eyes upward, locking onto hers for clarity amid the turmoil.

Umbridge," he said, voice gaining steel even as Dracana's arm looped tighter around his, her touch igniting **** flickers along his skin. "You've caught every word. What's our move? How do we counter this?"

The genie tilted her head, sending waves of lustrous hair tumbling like liquid night. She drifted nearer, her reddish haze grazing Dracana's legs, drawing a delighted shiver from the woman.

"Hem, hem... Oh, Master Harry," Umbridge purred, her tone a velvet drizzle of honeyed venom.

Umbridge continued in her high-pitched simper, her voice unwavering as she elaborated: "In my old skin as Ministry witch—that steadfast Senior Undersecretary—I'd counsel restraint, proper forms."

"File reports through veiled paths, amass proofs in silence," she added, gesturing delicately with her elegant fingers.

Now Umbridged eyes narrowed slightly in calculation as Umbridge explained, "Enlist aurors like Shacklebolt to shadow Lucius, sidestepping Fudge's gaze."

With her tone firming into authority, she advised: "Shun clashes; let paperwork weave the net, stifle whispers of You-Know-Who's shadow."

Nodding as if sealing an official decree, Umbridge concluded, "Order demands it—crafty edicts to silence rebels, uphold the Ministry's tale."

Her fingers danced through the air, trailing pink sparks that fizzed and faded.

Then Umbridge's expression shifted to something more intense, her hips swaying in a subtle rhythm, misty coils twisting with clear invitation.

"Yet as your Sex Genie, devoted utterly... why tangle in such dull webs, Master?" she murmured, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper.

Umbridge leaned in slightly, her eyes locking onto his as she continued: "My magic can warp it all into bliss."

"Reshape Lucius—twist his hunger for power into lust for you, make him pant to sabotage Voldemort on your word," she suggested eagerly, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Or conjure his confederates into a writhing harem, bodies and secrets bared as they surrender under your eyes," Umbridge purred, her tone growing huskier.

With a dramatic flourish of her hand, she added: "Picture it: taboos shattered, foes remade as fawning thralls, souls bent to your pleasures."

"No barriers, only rapture and reign," she emphasized, her breath quickening.

"What stirs you, my love?" Umbridge asked, inching forward with fervent craving in her eyes.

"Speak, and I'll weave it... to climax," she concluded breathlessly, her breasts pressing eagerly against the silk, poised for his decree.

Harry's stomach churned at Umbridge's second suggestion, the words ‘writhing harem’ and "’souls bent to your pleasures’ echoing in his mind like a dark curse.

Reshape Lucius into something lusting after him?

Turn **** Eaters into... that? It sounded twisted, wrong—like crossing a line he wasn't sure he could come back from, even if it meant stopping Voldemort.

A small voice reminded harry that he had done something very similar to Draco.